Slipstream: Chronicles
by MyBlueOblivion
Summary: A freak accident creates the first ever Cybertronian vampire, and the Autobots are left with one of the hardest questions of all: How do you stop the nightmare, when the nightmare is one of your own? Director's Cut
1. Oh, Stygian Night

Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter One

Oh, Stygian Night 

The explosion hit Optimus Prime with the force of an angry god. One second, he had been taking aim at Megatron, hoping to swing the tide of the battle and force a Decepticon retreat. The next, the whole world had erupted into white light, deafening noise, and searing pain. Prime had felt dislocated from reality for a few moments, unsure of which way was up; and then the blast had landed him heavily on his left side, coming to rest at an awkward angle. Several warning lights flared behind his eyes, telling him where he was hurt and how bad.

He would live. For now, at least.

The static clouding Prime's vision cleared after a few moments, and he immediately forced himself to sit upright, before struggling unsteadily to his feet. Pain flared through his systems; he would need Ratchet's attentions when he returned to the _Ark_, that was for certain. But his own health was a secondary concern, for the moment. The well-being of his comrades would always come first, and then there was a battle to win. Looking around quickly, Optimus assessed the situation.

The Decepticon space-bridge was badly damaged, a pall of black smoke rising from somewhere within its frame. It appeared to have been the source of the shockwave; Prime figured that a stray shot had hit the device and triggered a power surge, resulting in the explosion. Amazingly, the Autobots seemed to have come out of the situation surprisingly lightly, and those that had been hit were quickly regaining their bearings.

The Decepticons had been much closer to the source of the blast, and it showed. Those that could stand were picking up their fallen comrades, and Megatron was leading a hasty retreat. The powerful chrome-white mech lifted into the air, before turning and glaring balefully at Prime, his deep red optics carrying a simple message to his life-long adversary. _You win this round_, they said. _But you will never win the war._ And then they were gone.

Prime watched the Decepticons retreat into the distance, briefly regretting his decision to attack the space-bridge. It could have gone a lot worse for his Autobots, and a pang of guilt briefly fluttered through him. He quickly put it to one side; the decision had been right, and his men knew it. _He_ knew it. He knew that sometimes risks were needed to win a war. That didn't mean he had to like the idea, though.

Prime turned his attention to his colleagues, and walked forward to help the few that were showing signs of injury. A few were badly dented, more were limping or nursing their arms. Bumblebee and Jazz had been closest to the flashpoint, it appeared, and the pair were supporting one another, each helping the other to stand. Nearby, Ironhide was helping Blaster to his feet, and not too far behind them Prime spotted the twins limping side by side.

It was then that Prime saw the bodies. Two forms could be seen lying in the wreckage of the bridge mechanism. From their position, they had to have been inside the construct when it had exploded. A sudden feeling of foreboding gripped Prime's spark, and without thinking, he broke into a run. They had to be dead, they had to be, but Prime still needed to be sure. Hound and Wheeljack saw their leader moving toward the site of the accident, and raced to join him. The three mechs slowed as they reached the epicentre of the explosion, and eventually came to a stop in front of the two corpses.

What they saw drew the strongest reaction any of the Autobots had seen from Prime. The giant warrior dropped to his knees, threw back his head and howled in anguish. It was a sound of agony, of frustration, and the deepest sense of loss imaginable. Inside, the Autobots were making the same sound, their very sparks resonating with the same pain. The reason was lying prostrate in the dirt in front of them. One of the corpses was Decepticon, the other an Autobot. It was Slipstream, a recent addition to Prime's forces from Cybertron. He had been bright and cheerful, and almost painfully young. And he had been loyal to the end. Wheeljack looked from the young mech, to his friend and leader, then back again. He knew how Prime felt; he was already starting to feel the same grief.

"Primus watch over his spark," he intoned. _So young. Too young._

And then Slipstream moved...

O o O o O 

Slipstream stood in front of the Ark, awed into silence at the sight before him. He could barely believe that he was here, the legendary spacecraft that had saved Cybertron, and the base of operations for his idol, Optimus Prime. Slipstream had grown up hearing stories about the venerable warrior and leader, and was now thrilled at the chance to finally be serving under him. Around Slipstream stood a small group of new recruits, each as thrilled as he was to be there. The group had been drafted in to help out on Earth, all having earned the honour, and they were all looking forward to the chance to take the fight to the enemy.

"Recruits, stand to attention!"

The deep, booming voice had preceded the largest mech Slipstream had ever seen. His red and blue armour gleaming in the morning sunlight, Optimus Prime looked every bit the legendary hero to the young warriors. Beside their new commander walked three other transformers. Two of them had signs that they transformed into cars; one was distinguishable by sunshade shaped optics and a blue racing stripe along his chest plate, the other by a ribbed faceplate and small vanes protruding from the sides of his head. The third, a red and yellow mech with a wide smile and a cassette hatch for a chest plate, brought up the rear.

"Autobots, welcome to Earth," began Prime, the warm timbre of his voice instantly making the newcomers feel welcome. He gestured to his companions. "I would like to introduce Jazz, our covert operations specialist, Wheeljack, head of science, and Blaster, our communications officer. The rest, you'll get a chance to meet later, along with some of our human friends as well, in time. But for now, I would like you to tell us about yourselves."

A cocky young 'bot with bright blue armour was the first to speak, snapping to a salute and introducing himself as Sunchaser. _Sports car_, Slipstream thought to himself, even before he caught any chassis give-aways. The next was a quiet spoken, chrome coloured 'bot that called himself Pitstop. Pitstop made a mention that he was a medic, and fell silent again. Nothing gave away his alternate form, but Slipstream took a few guesses anyway.

Next came a tall, thin mech with bright green armour that introduced himself as Axcell, and from the look of his light chassis and framework, Slipstream guessed at his alternate form being a motorcycle. Slipstream had spent some time getting to know Axcell on the shuttle from Cybertron, and had taken an instant liking to the scout's easy-going manner; it would be nice to have at least one friend, he thought. After Axcell came a short, yellow and blue framed femme, who stepped forward and introduced herself as Waverider; her armour shapes identified her as a boat of some variety. Finally, it was Slipstream's turn.

He had completely fumbled his introduction. In the space of ten seconds, Slipstream had mispronounced his own name, mispronounced Prime's name, said 'sir' more than five times, and finally fallen into an embarrassed silence. His fellow recruits had taken to either staring at him in a mixture of sympathy and disbelief, or carefully studying the nearest rock in an attempt to spare his feelings. To make matters worse, Wheeljack and Blaster were laughing quietly to themselves, whilst Jazz had nudged Prime in the side and loudly whispered the words 'hero worship' with a large grin creasing his features.

Prime had been different, though. He had laughed, yes, but it hadn't been in an unkind way. Something in the older mech's optics had reassured Slipstream, a sense of deep wisdom and endless warmth that had eased the young jet's fears. Prime had reinforced that impression later the same day. He had approached Slipstream after his first shift had ended, walking with him to the mess hall, and had given him a piece of advice that the youngster would remember for as long as he lived.

"Don't look up to the individual," Prime had said, his voice gentle, as though talking to a child. "Look up to the ideals that they believe in. Justice, freedom, truth; all of these things should be upheld by those who can. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, Slipstream. It's up to us to make sure they get to keep it..."

O o O o O 

_Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. _

The words ran unbidden through the darkness that surrounded Slipstream. He didn't know where he was, or even how long he had been there. Every so often, he thought he could hear voices, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It was like listening to a conversation in another room. Slipstream had tried crying out to the voices, trying to get their attention, but for reasons unknown he had been unable to get through. Nothing seemed to make sense. All he knew was that he was tired, and hurt. And he had begun to get the strangest feeling that he wasn't alone.

It wasn't anything to do with the other voices. They were unclear as well as distant, like a half forgotten memory. This was closer, and it felt dangerous. A presence, almost predatory, had begun to make itself felt; Slipstream was no longer sure if it hadn't always been there. At first, it had seemed as unreal as the other voices, but over time the whispers in the dark had separated themselves. Slipstream could hear the voice now, scratching at the edge of his dark little world, whispering his name. It knew who he was, and it was coming for him.

_Slipstream_, it whispered, closer to him now, cold and dark as the void.

_Sliiipstreeeam..._

O o O o O 

"It's been three days, and still nothing," Wheeljack sighed, throwing his data pad down onto a nearby workstation in an uncommon display of frustration. Nearby, Ratchet grunted in response. The medic was busy glaring at a diagnostic display above Slipstream's bed, as though daring the device to reveal some secret to him. The monitor remained resolutely unchanged, and before long Ratchet sighed too.

Three days had passed since the battle at the space-bridge. Slipstream had been brought in along with the other injured Autobots, near to dead and non-responsive. Ratchet had been able to fix most of the youth's damaged systems; electro-magnetic system-shock, chassis damage caused by blunt-force trauma, and a series of jarred internal servos being the worst of his physical problems. The strange thing was that Slipstream hadn't yet woken up.

"I hate to say it, Wheeljack," Ratchet said after a long pause, "but the lad is showing no sign of recovery. Every test I run on his higher mental functions comes back jumbled. It's like he's in a recharge-based dream state, but the signals are all coming back jumbled, and he's not recharging as such. I just don't understand it."

"He could be in a coma," came a small voice, from the direction of the door. The two mechs looked up in time to see Spike entering the med bay. The human youth had visited Slipstream every day since the Autobots had returned from their mission. Bumblebee wasn't usually too far behind. The pair had made friends with Slipstream almost immediately, and both had been showing up to show their support for their friend at least once a day. Bumblebee had even offered Ratchet the use of any parts he could spare, in an effort to get him repaired.

"A coma?" Ratchet mused, while getting a kind of far-away expression that told Spike the medic was either doing an internal memory check, or was scanning the internet for information. A second later, the white and red mech refocussed on the young human. "Not a bad analogy, actually," he replied. Spike smiled in return, then turned his attention to Slipstream.

"Do you think that you will be able to help him?" he asked.

"We'll do our best, Spike," Wheeljack said in his most reassuring voice, placing one hand around Spike's shoulders. It still surprised Spike that beings so large could be so gentle, as the massive gauntlet rested gently on him, instead of knocking him flat. After a few seconds, he turned to Wheeljack and Ratchet and asked another question that had been bothering him, one that had been everyone's mind for three days.

"Has anyone seen Optimus Prime?"

O o O o O

Optimus Prime stalked around his quarters, muttering quietly beneath his battle mask. He had barely been able to recharge properly for three days now, and it was starting to show. Every time he shut down his optics, all he could see was Megatron's leering features. In his waking hours, Prime had shut himself away from his colleagues. He had become convinced that they all blamed him for the disaster at the space bridge, and he couldn't blame them. After all, he blamed himself, so why shouldn't they?

After circling his room for what seemed to be the millionth time, Prime came to a halt. He had done everything he could to prepare for that fight. Hadn't he? They had outnumbered the enemy, he had been careful not to position his forces too close to the bridge. So where had it all gone wrong? It couldn't have, shouldn't have, but half of his colleagues, his friends, had spent at least five hours in the med-bay, undergoing repairs. And one of them was still there.

Why did he feel like this? The answer eluded him, dancing just out of reach any time he thought about it. He alternately wanted to cry from sheer grief, or else roar in abject rage. He had lost battles before, had lost more colleagues than he cared to recount, had been forced into more bloody retreats and violent stalemates than he could even recall. It hadn't affected him like this before. So why did he feel so bad, so very guilty?

It didn't make sense; nothing did any more. Prime felt a tight knot of anger forming in his chest, and lashed out at the nearest object, a desk that occupied a corner of his quarters. It gave easily beneath the weight of his fist, but refused to break totally. Prime just stood for a few seconds, staring at his blue and black plated fist, buried in the desk surface. What was happening to him? He had never felt like this, not even in his earlier life as Orion Pax... then the thought occurred that he had only just thought that same thing, and the realisation that he was going around in circles made Prime even angrier.

As his optics shifted focus, scanning around his quarters with no particular purpose in mind, Prime noticed his blaster laying discarded on his recharge bed. Slowly, the idea began to dawn on him that there was a way out of this hell. It would be so easy to end his pain. Just a simple squeeze of the trigger, and no-one would have to deal with his failure ever again...

The intercom by his door chimed, driving the thought away in an instant, replacing it with yet more annoyance, and an odd hollow feeling inside. He strode over to the door, and punched the comm button.

"What?" he snapped.

"Jazz here," came the timid reply. "You asked to be informed when the twins returned from their re-con mission. Well, sir, they're here."

O o O o O

Sunstreaker stood just inside the doorway to the Ark's med-bay, watching as Ratchet repaired his twin brother. Sideswipe had taken a bad hit, and needed his entire hood and front fender replaced, as well as a new front axle. The younger mech winced as the medic manoeuvred one of the replacement parts into place, and Sunstreaker tensed noticeably, as if ready to rush in and protect his little brother. Whilst he and Sideswipe could argue like the proverbial cat and dog when the mood took them, Sunstreaker was gonna be damned if anyone was going to hurt 'Swipe and get away with it, medic or not.

"Hey, man," came a familiar drawl from behind Sunstreaker. Warpath had been passing, and had decided to look in. Spotting Sideswipe's current condition, he had become intrigued. "What kind of _ziinng kapow_ trouble did you two get into this time?"

"The Decepticon kind," Sunstreaker hissed, without moving his gaze from his twin. "What's it to you, Warpath?"

"No need to be _zaang_ surly," Warpath returned, completely oblivious to the dangerous tone in Sunstreaker's voice; most would have taken the hint and left.

"Frak off, Warpath," was the only reply.

"Well, _kraang_, hey now..."

Sunstreaker turned to face Warpath, pulling himself up to his full height as he did so, squaring off against the tank. His optics flashed dangerously, turning nearly pure white as his combat programming cycled up to full capacity. The fact didn't escape Warpath's notice, and he tensed, ready for a fight.

"_Frak_. _Off_. I 'aint gonna say it again, Tread-head."

"That is enough!" Prime's voice cut easily through the air, causing both parties to back down instantly. The commander marched over to the arguing pair, towering over both mechs.

"Sunstreaker, your report please," Prime asked, lowering his voice to a more normal level. Warpath took this as his cue to make a discreet exit.

"It's just like we thought, sir," Sunstreaker offered, his voice keeping to a respectful tone as he watched Warpath leave in his peripheral vision. "The Decepticons are moving the space bridge. Unfortunately, the Constructicons are doing the job, and they saw me and 'Swipe off before we could find out where they were going. Also, we found out who the destroyed 'Con was. It was Ratbat."

"Good work," said Prime, turning away, sounding to Sunstreaker anything but happy. The bright yellow mech was about to ask his commander what was up, when a voice from the observation area of the med-bay interrupted him. The voice belonged to Wheeljack, and he sounded happy. Slipstream was awake.

Prime almost ran to the observation bay, quickly followed by Ratchet and the twins. Sure enough, Slipstream was sitting up, propping himself up with his arms to his sides and slightly behind him. He looked cheerful, but something in his bright blue optics spoke of the trauma he had endured. The young mech looked as though the experience had aged him, somehow.

"How do you feel, Slipstream?" Prime asked, relief flooding his voice.

"Tired, sir, which is odd considering I'm told I've been in recharge for nearly four days," Slipstream replied weakly. "Maybe it's because I had so many nightmares..."

"Well, I think that you should be able to return to light duties, once I've run a few more tests," Ratchet cut in. "Under observation, of course."

"Great," Slipstream replied, before grinning mischievously. "First things first, though, I need to eat. I sure am hungry!"

O o O o O

Sunstreaker had been chosen for night watch duty, and was sitting on a rock some distance above the entrance to the Ark. It was getting late, heading on for early morning. In the distance, a small patch of sky was starting to show as a faint patch of blue against the deep black. Sunstreaker checked his internal chronometer; his watch should have ended some twenty minutes previously. He was just entertaining the idea that he should call Ironhide and find out where he had got to, when he heard a noise behind him.

"Who's there?" he asked the night, instantly tense, whilst quietly reaching for his gun.

"You know who I am," came a whispered, sibilant reply. Sunstreaker could make out a shape moving nearby. Deep red optics showed up in the dark, accompanied by heavy footfalls. The shape stopped a few feet away from Sunstreaker.

"I am friend," came the whisper again, harsh against the stygian black of the night.

"Grimlock?" Sunstreaker replied, unsure, "I didn't expect to see you up here. I'm waiting for Ironhide. What can I do for you?" There was no reply.

"Well, if you came up here to say nothing, you can just get lost again," Sunstreaker finished, his usual aggression starting to show, whilst sitting back down on his rock. "I've got better things to do."

"Hungry," came the whisper again, after a pause of several seconds.

"What do you mean, hungry?" Sunstreaker asked, in no mood and too tired for Grimlock's games. "Grimlock, did you miss your energon ration or something?"

"No, just hungry," came the the reply, closer now.

"_O-kaay_," Sunstreaker said dryly. "Now can you get lost?"

"One question," came the whisper.

"Shoot," said Sunstreaker, shrugging to himself.

"Who is Grimlock?"

O o O o O

Sideswipe stood over the unconscious form of his brother, his eyes closed. He had been that way for nearly an hour, simply standing there and holding Sunstreaker's hand. He was shaking gently, either with grief or fury, Optimus Prime couldn't tell. Never having had a sibling, let alone a twin, Prime often had trouble understanding the relationship the two mechs shared. _Either way_, he mused, _Primus help whoever was responsible for the attack. If Sideswipe finds them, only Primus will be ABLE to help them._

Prime turned to Wheeljack, who was busy running through the preliminary results of a battery of tests that he had run on Sunstreaker. Ironhide had found the yellow mech at the change of night watch, and had immediately called for help. The veteran warrior had blamed himself for Sunstreaker's state, as he had been half an hour late for the changeover. Bizarrely, Sunstreaker had shown no obvious signs of injury.

At least, not at first. Shortly after Ratchet and Wheeljack had begun checking him over, they had found two small puncture marks in one of his primary power cables, halfway down his neck. They were bite marks, that much was clear. He had been almost completely drained of energon, and as a result had shut down and gone into stasis lock. Ratchet had immediately put him on an energon feed, but they were having trouble getting the charge to stick. Something seemed to have disrupted his power cells. In short, Sunstreaker was lucky to be alive. Wheeljack looked up at Prime, a look of confusion written across his features. Prime knew what his friend was going to say before he even spoke.

"I'm sorry, Prime," the science officer said. "I can't explain it. I've never seen anything like it, and neither has Teletran-One."

"What could have caused this?", asked Prime, looking from the scientist to Sunstreaker. He had to admit, he didn't think he had ever seen the yellow warrior look so peaceful.

"Well, the bite marks are similar to something Ravage would leave behind, but as for the energon drain," he shrugged, "that's a different matter."

"Best guess, then," Prime pressed.

"This is something new. Something we haven't seen before. It's not friendly, it's probably Decepticon, and by now it could be anywhere in the base. I think it's safe to say we have an intruder."

"Prime," muttered the Autobot leader under his breath. "That's just prime..."

* * *

Author's Notes: First, the disclaimer for this story. I do not own Transformers, Hasbro do. I also do not own Bram Stoker's Dracula. Sunchaser, Pitstop, Axcell, Waverider and Slipstream are mine.

No, you aren't seeing things... this is a re-post of the original Slipstream Chronicles series. It's going to be going up as a multi-chapter fic, and with some added material that got dropped from the original cut, in the form of two deleted scenes. Throw in some wording changes and a general clean-up, and you get this: Slipstream: Chronicles, the Director's Cut!

Please review, any and all feedback is welcome. Chapters two to five coming soon.


	2. Epiphanies

Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter Two

Epiphanies

Sideswipe sat next to his brother's bed, desperately fighting the urge to start a recharge cycle. It had been the same for five days now. Since Sunstreaker had been found unconscious at his post, the Ark had become a hive of activity, every available Autobot searching for his attacker. But not Sideswipe. It wasn't that he didn't want to; every last fibre in his being sang with the urge to hunt his twin's attacker down and make them pay.

But at the same time, he felt that he couldn't leave his brother. He had always looked up to Sunstreaker; he had always been so strong, so brave. Seeing him now, lying helpless in the med-bay, Sideswipe felt a protectiveness for his sibling far stronger than any he had experienced before. He could not, _would not_ leave Sunstreaker's side, just as he knew his brother would not leave his.

That didn't mean that Sideswipe wasn't tired, though. He had barely eaten or recharged since the attack, and it was getting harder to stay awake. To keep himself lucid, Sideswipe tried to imagine what Sunstreaker would say if he could see him now. The image that came to mind was that of Sunstreaker telling Sideswipe to stop being such a frakking femme-bot. The thought made the younger mech smile to himself; Sunny had always had a way with words.

Sideswipe leaned forward, taking his brother's hand in his own and moving in closer to Sunstreaker's head. He squeezed his twin's hand gently, and whispered his name. Sunstreaker didn't respond. Sideswipe tried again, a little louder this time, but the result was the same. Sighing deeply, Sideswipe sat back in his chair again. Ten minutes passed, then for what seemed like the hundredth time, he felt his head nod forward, and the world went dark.

"Hey, lil' bro."

Sideswipe's head snapped up, his optics focusing on the source of the sound. A quick check of his internal chronometer told him that he had been in recharge mode for nearly an hour. Sunstreaker was awake, his head rolled to one side so that he could see his brother. He smiled weakly as 'Swipe met his gaze.

"How long have I been out?" Sunstreaker asked, sounding even weaker than he looked.

"Nearly six days," Sideswipe said softly, moving closer to his twin. "You had me worried."

"You been here the whole time?" Sunny asked, looking concerned. "You look like de-natured cydraulic primer."

"Gee, thanks," Sideswipe growled, picturing the greenish, viscous material and shuddering slightly. "You always did know just what to say to cheer me up."

"What can I say? It's a gift," Sunny grinned. Sideswipe grinned along with him for a while, but before long the smile slipped.

"Do you remember anything about the attack?" he asked, concern creasing his features.

"Not much," Sunstreaker answered, losing his own smile altogether. A completely non-Sunstreaker-like expression of fear passed over his face as he tried to remember. "I just remember seeing these red optics coming toward me, some pain, then waking up here. I don't think I even had enough time to put up a fight. Sorry."

"Don't be," 'Swipe murmured, shifting in his seat. "Listen, Sunny, I'm gonna have to go and get someone. Ratchet should know that you're up, and Prime asked me to check in as well. I think they're going to want to question you." Sideswipe stood up, gave his brother's hand one last squeeze, and headed for the door. When he heard Sunstreaker call his name, he spun around, worry showing in his optics.

"Thanks, little brother," Sunstreaker said, using a term for 'Swipe that the red mech hadn't heard for a very long time. And then his optics went dark. Sideswipe felt a surge of panic for a moment, fearing the worst, but then realised that Sunstreaker had just slipped into recharge. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned once more, and headed to make his report.

O o O o O

"Hey, buddy, how's it going?"

Axcell stood up as Slipstream approached the table where he, Bumblebee and Seaspray were sitting, clapping the young flyer on the back. The two other mech's both greeted him warmly, and Slipstream sat down in a free seat that Axcell pulled out for him.

"I'm fine guys, really," he said, answering his three friends' enquiring gazes. "I'm still a bit tired, but Ratchet says I'm going to be fine. I just got back off of my first half-shift."

"Looks like you could do with this, then!" 'Bee said, passing Slipstream a full energon cube. "So, umm... do you remember what happened? At the space-bridge?"

"No, not really," Slipstream said quietly, his smile dropping a little. He stared down into his energon container and the pinkish liquid within, swirling it around as he thought about his answer. "I remember the fight, then the explosion; lots of white light and noise, then blackness. The next thing I know, I'm waking up with Doc Hatchet leaning over me... I dunno which was scarier!" the flyer finished, grinning at the others. They laughed, and he joined them. Everything was returning to normal.

Slipstream took a mouthful from his glass, and swallowed the freshly warmed energon. Seconds later, his intake systems spasmed involuntarily, and he began to cough and splutter as his body performed a partial purge. Embarrassment was written all over his face-plate as he looked up into the worried optics of his friends. Slipstream wiped some of the spilled energon from his chin, and tried a smile.

"Are you okay?" Axcell asked, placing a hand on Slipstream's shoulder. "What happened? Open the wrong valve or something?"

"I don't know," Slipstream managed to mumble, suddenly feeling less than himself. "I guess I'm not as fully recovered as Ratchet thought..."

O o O o O

Optimus Prime sat in front of Teletran-One, deep in thought. Things had been quiet for six days now, since Sunstreaker's attack, in fact. There hadn't even been any registered Decepticon activity, which was unusual in itself. As a result, Prime felt tense. He wasn't feeling as angry as he had been in the aftermath of the events at the space-bridge, but the memory of how he had felt still haunted him. He could still feel the echo of that last, suicidal urge; it hadn't gone away as such, just become quieter, pushed into the background by more pressing matters. He remembered the feel of his blaster, which was now stored in sub-space, and somehow its presence felt strangely comforting.

For six days, the Autobots had been on high alert, searching for any sign of the mystery assailant that had left Sunstreaker next to dead. Teletran-One had been scanning the local area for any unrecognised energon signatures, and the Autobots had organised teams to search the Ark and the network of tunnels that ran through the mountain that surrounded them. The search had brought up nothing. Combined with the fact that Sunstreaker hadn't seen his attacker, the odds of finding the culprit were bordering on none at all.

Prime was snapped out of his reverie by someone calling his name, and he looked for the source. Spike Witwicky was making his way across the Ark's control room. He was carrying one of the books that the humans used for data storage. Even though they had been using computers for some time, books were still popular, which the Autobots in general found confusing. But then, humans were strange creatures. On the cover of the book, tucked under one of Spike's arms, Prime could make out the words 'Bram Stoker'. Optimus Prime was certain that he had no idea what a 'Bram Stoker' was, but he was sure that his human friend wouldn't have brought the book without a reason.

"Hi, Optimus," Spike called up to the massive Autobot, as he jogged over to where he stood. "Great news about Sunstreaker, huh?"

"Yes, it is. What can I do for you, Spike?" Prime replied, more than a little distracted.

"I think I might have an idea about what attacked Sunstreaker, sir," Spike said, waving the book slightly as if in explanation. Prime instantly started paying attention. He helped Spike climb up onto a chair, then waited patiently for the boy to continue.

"Optimus, have you ever heard the term 'vampire' before?" Spike asked. Prime shook his head.

"No, Spike, I'm afraid I haven't," Prime answered, puzzled as to what the young human was going on about.

"Well, it's a fictional type of monster," Spike said, whilst holding out the book for Optimus to take. "I brought this book, in case you wanted to get a better idea of what I'm talking about."

"Thank you, Spike, but what has fiction got to do with our current circumstances?"

By the time Spike had finished, Prime understood the reason for the comparison. For humans, the mythical vampire was a creature that looked human, but could only survive by ingesting the life-blood of other human beings. Hearing the description, Prime had been struck by a sudden realisation. He had thanked Spike for his suggestion, and immediately left to find Wheeljack.

O o O o O

"What do you think?" Prime asked the scientist. Wheeljack had just finished speed-reading the book, and was looking perplexed. "Could this be real?"

"I suppose," Wheeljack answered after a moment, "I mean, in theory, it could be true. As you know, normally Cybertronians can only ingest energon in its basic, processed form. After it enters a mech's body, the make-up of the energon changes. Not by a lot, but enough to make it useless to another mech without reprocessing. If a transformer had a fault that meant it could only take in energon _after_ it has been consumed by another mech…"

"Then it could be classed as a vampire," Prime finished. "And it would have to find a way to feed."

"Pretty much. I mean, it's all theory at the moment, but it sounds plausible," Wheeljack agreed, rubbing the back of his head, a sign that he was troubled; the fact only made Optimus feel worse.

"Perfect," growled Prime. "That just leaves one question: why has it only struck once?"

"I don't know," Wheeljack sighed. He was in the process of leaning back in his chair in resignation, when he stopped. He sat forward sharply, his head looking away from Prime, as though listening to something.

"What is it, Wheeljack?" Prime asked, concerned.

"I don't know," Wheeljack said after a few moments. "For a second I thought I heard…"

A high pitched, keening wail cut through the air, stopping Wheeljack mid-sentence. The sound was utterly chilling, predatory and dangerous. To Prime's audio sensors, it sounded like something spawned straight from the Inferno. The shriek faded away mere moments after it started, only to be followed by a more conventional scream. It was a sound of pure terror.

"Something like that?" Prime asked, as the pair ran for the door.

O o O o O

Several corridors away, Optimus and Wheeljack found the source of the of the scream. The pair turned a corner, heading in the general direction of the mess hall, when they practically ran into a tight knot of Autobots, chattering in fast, low voices. The resultant hum was surprisingly loud. Prime could see immediately that they were all staring at something, but his view was being blocked. He knew in his gut what it was they were all looking at; the only question remaining was who the latest victim was.

"Autobots, stand aside!" Prime bellowed, having to raise his voice to make himself heard over the voices of the crowd. As the gathered Autobots obediently parted for their leader, Prime strode forward, steeling himself for whatever lay ahead. Every Autobot he passed looked at him with the same look in their eyes: fear. When he got to the front of the crowd, Prime understood why. What he saw was nothing less than a scene of pure carnage.

From the remains, Prime guessed that the victim had been Waverider; not that there was a lot to identify. Torn armour plates littered the corridor, and streaks of coolant and cydraulic fluids stained the walls, floor, and part of the ceiling. Most of her internal workings had been pulled loose or crushed; to Prime it looked as though something had punched straight through the poor female's chest plate and set off a small bomb in the cavity. Most disturbing of all, though, was her head. It was missing.

Ratchet and Pitstop were busy examining the remains, and Wheeljack moved to join them. As Prime watched, he noticed that Beachcomber was sitting on the floor a few metres away, sobbing quietly into his hands. Prime had heard that he and Waverider had become close over the past few weeks. Now, Prime could see the love that Beachcomber had felt, and his spark went out to him. Deciding that he would talk to Beachcomber later, he turned his attention back to Waverider's remains.

"What do you make of it?" Prime asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"I'll need to run a few tests," Wheeljack replied, whilst picking up a piece of debris. "But what I've seen so far says that our 'vampire' is back. Look at this." Wheeljack held out the item for Prime to see.

"Power cable," Prime stated simply.

"And it's punctured in almost the exact same way as Sunstreaker's neck," Wheeljack finished.

"I took the liberty of checking Waverider's power cells," Ratchet said, moving to join the others. "They have been completely drained. There isn't even a residual static charge. What I don't understand, though, is the ferocity of the attack. Why was this attack so much more violent than the last?"

There was a moment's silence, as everyone present tried to think of a reason. No one seemed to be able to explain it. The attack had been so brutal, so animalistic, that it had left the Autobots lost for words. All, that is, except for Beachcomber.

"She fought back," he stated quietly, his voice catching between sobs. "This thing caught Sunstreaker by surprise, so it probably didn't see a need to kill him. But my Waverider, she had to have fought back. I heard her scream; she sounded like she was struggling. So it killed her, out of spite." Beachcomber staggered to his feet, and stared straight at Prime.

"We find this thing, and we kill it," he growled. "Before it kills another one of us."

O o O o O

The search began anew. Every available Autobot took part, pairing up and searching the Ark by sections. The attack on Waverider had everyone spooked, terrified even, and the general consensus was that they were all in danger until the predator was caught. Even Grimlock, for all his usual bravado, had admitted that he and the other Dinobots were concerned for their safety. This did absolutely nothing for the morale of the rest of the Autobots.

Once Prime was convinced that the Ark had been searched down to the last air duct, he ordered another search of the mountain tunnels. Some of the tunnels had been moved into by the Autobots already, and were being used for cargo storage. However, the whole mountain was honeycombed with a labyrinthine network of smaller tunnels, and to search them thoroughly was going to take time. By Wheeljack's reckoning, the mysterious intruder would probably not strike for another six days. Unfortunately, that estimate ran on the assumption that there was going to be a pattern to the attacks; without further information, though, the estimate was all they had.

Four days passed, and there had still been no sign of the attacker. Most of the tunnels had been searched by this point, and the ones that remained were so small that the search parties had to be split down to groups of two or three. Everyone was on edge; if Wheeljack's estimate was accurate, then the creature would strike again soon. Time was running out, and it was looking increasingly unlikely that they would find the attacker. Either that, or they were getting very close.

Slipstream, deemed fully recovered from his ordeal after the space-bridge incident by Ratchet, had joined in the search parties as often as he could. He was currently teamed up with Sludge, one of the Dinobots. The hulking mech was harmless enough, the young 'bot figured, but his sheer size made Slipstream feel nervous. Never having been the largest or strongest of 'bots, Slipstream had always felt a little awed amongst his larger colleagues.

Some of the tunnels that they had been assigned to search were a little too small for Sludge to fit into, and for brief periods Slipstream had been forced to creep forward on his own. He had been petrified, but he had still done it. After all, the monster, as the Autobots were beginning to refer to the attacker, had killed one of his friends and seriously injured another. Whilst he was scared for his own life, the sense of duty to his comrades that he felt completely overrode his urges for self preservation.

"Sludge no like tunnels," Sludge rumbled. He had been complaining like this for the best part of an hour, and Slipstream was no longer sure if the leviathan mech was addressing him, or simply talking to himself. Shrugging, he decided to answer anyway.

"I know, Sludge," he replied, trying to sound upbeat. "The tunnels aren't very nice. But just think, if we find the monster and bring it in, then we'll be heroes. Won't that be cool?"

"Sludge not cool," came the growling reply. "Sludge hot. Tunnels hot. Sludge no like tunnels."

"I know, you said already," Slipstream sighed. "But think about the hero part."

"Sludge hero?" the Dinobot asked, after a moment's consideration, looking over his shoulder at Slipstream.

"Yes, Sludge hero," Slipstream smiled. Finally, some progress. Sludge stopped walking for a moment, as though thinking hard. At length, he answered, his deep voice echoing from the tunnel walls.

"Sludge no like tunnels."

The argument solved, to his mind at least, Sludge turned from his companion and started walking slowly in their original direction. Slipstream watched the Dinobot start to leave with a look of utter disbelief written across his face. His head dropped, and he slapped the palm of his right hand against his forehead. _This is going to be a long shift_, he thought to himself. It was at that point that Slipstream thought he heard something. He called out to Sludge, but he just rumbled some more about not liking tunnels, and carried on walking. Slipstream decided to investigate by himself.

O o O o O

Optimus Prime had been on patrol for less than an hour when it happened. The tunnel network echoed with a high pitched, undulating scream, followed by frightened shouts and what sounded like gunfire. Prime began to run in the general direction of the commotion, but was unsure of which way to head. The noise was bouncing around in the labyrinth of tunnels, making it difficult to trace. As he headed in what seemed to be the right direction, he met up with Mirage and Sideswipe, practically running into the pair. Both of them looked scared. Prime knew exactly how they felt.

Together, the trio ran on, knowing that the worst had happened, and fearing what they would see. Within minutes, Prime was joined by more Autobots that had heard the noise, and by the time they reached the site of the attack, Prime was leading twelve others. Inside, Prime was screaming with frustration. He should never have given the order to split up the larger teams. But it was too late for self recrimination. He could deal with that later. What he and the others faced now required his full attention.

The tunnel the group was in had widened out to form a fair sized cave. They were at virtually the deepest point of the tunnel system, and so far as Prime knew, no Autobot had explored this deep into the mountainside. In the centre of the cave, a scene of destruction met their collective optics. Pitstop lay in several pieces, his various internal fluids sinking slowly into the soil of the cavern floor. Nearby, Axcell lay against the cave wall, a smoking crater in his right shoulder, his optics off-line. And standing in the middle of it all, pulse rifle in hand, was Slipstream.

Prime raised his own weapon, not wanting to take any risks. The youngster looked completely shaken, and Prime knew that if he lost control, he could become very dangerous very quickly. On the other hand, Slipstream could just as easily be the monster. Following Prime's lead, the other Autobots fanned out, bringing their own weapons to bear. Slipstream didn't move.

"Slipstream," Prime said softly, trying to get the youngster's attention. "Slipstream, listen to me. Put the gun down, son."

Slipstream looked up at Prime, his movements slow and deliberate. At first, he seemed completely unfocussed, his features glazed over, as though his mind was somewhere else. Then he came to, his optics locking onto Prime's, and his expression switched to one of the utmost sorrow. Slowly, he loosened his grip on his rifle, and it dropped to the cavern floor.

"I'm... I'm so... sorry," he began, his voice faint and faltering. "I had to. I had to do it. He was... he was going to kill me." Slipstream dropped to his knees then, breaking out into loud sobs. Prime felt a surge of deep pity for Slipstream, and lowered his blaster, taking a few steps toward him. The Autobot commander knelt down next to the young mech, placing his large hands on Slipstream's much smaller shoulders, trying to steady the youth.

"Tell me what happened," he said gently.

O o O o O

Axcell had been the monster all along. By the time Slipstream had finished, Prime was sure of it. Slipstream had told him of how he had heard the beginning of the attack, and had walked in on Axcell sinking his teeth into Pitstop's throat. He told of how he had tried to intervene, but how Axcell had thrown him to one side like he was made of so much paper, and proceeded to tear poor Pitstop apart. It had been then that Slipstream had managed to reach his weapon and shoot Axcell.

Axcell had been taken to the med-bay, along with the remains of his victim. Surprisingly, Axcell had survived his wound, simply being knocked unconscious by the shot. Prime had ordered that he be kept under guard by at least three Autobots at all times. He had also ordered that Sideswipe should not be allowed into the med-bay, fearing that he would kill Axcell in revenge for the attack on his brother before Prime could question him.

Slipstream, despite his initial distress, had calmed down quickly, even going so far as to volunteer for the first watch over Axcell. Prime worried about the young mech, about how he was holding up under the stresses he had endured in such a short time. At the same time, he blamed himself for what had happened. He found himself fighting off the urge to shut himself away again, instead concentrating on waiting for Axcell to come around, so he could finally get some answers.

He was willing to wait for as long as it took...

O o O o O

Slipstream stared at the sleeping form of Axcell, lying a short distance away on an observation bed. Slipstream was on watch with Snarl and Mirage. He stood leaning against a wall, just behind his two friends, carefully watching for any signs that Axcell was waking up. Axcell twitched slightly, and Slipstream tightened his grip on his pulse rifle. He regretted what he would have to do, what he had already done. But if Axcell woke up, there was no way Slipstream could let him live.

_After all, _he thought to himself, his optics changing from blue to red, then back again. _I have a secret to keep..._

* * *

Author's Notes: Deleted scene one.

For some odd reason, the scene with Slipstream choking in the mess hall got dropped from the original cut of _Epiphanies_. I had decided to play down the Slipstream/Axcell friendship, and this scene was a big scene for that relationship; you can see the kind of 'best friend/surrogate older brother' kind of vibe between our resident vampire and the scout, and I had wanted to move away from that. Goodness knows why.

The scene is also a precursor for the ending, when we find out that Slipstream is really the monster, and originally I felt that it kind of got spoiled by the mess hall scene. Putting it back in, I feel, has still done that; the upshot is, however, that it intensifies the betrayal of Axcell, making for a more emotional story hook. Funny how hindsight is such a wonderful thing!

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.


	3. Vampyre

Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter Three

Vampyre

_Optimus Prime stared into the deep red optics of his ancient foe, and saw his death given form. Megatron had his jet black gauntlets wrapped around Prime's throat, squeezing, crushing, stopping the energon flow to his brain. The world started to turn grey, then black at the edges, forcing Prime's focus in on the burning red hell of those eyes._

"_It's all your fault," Megatron hissed. "They're all dead because of you. Let me take it away. All of the pain, all of the remorse, all of the guilt... just give in to me. Give up. Die, Optimus Prime. Diiiiieeeeee..."_

Prime jolted upright, panicked, his optics frantically searching his quarters for his nemesis. The room was dark and completely devoid of life. Had it really just been a dream? It had all seemed so real. It didn't seem possible; for a few moments he could still feel Megatron's hands closing around his throat. And he remembered what he had felt at the last moment, as the dreamed Megatron had finally taken his life.

Relief. Total, unparalleled relief.

The thought made him want to cry. Or to scream. Prime didn't know what he felt, he just knew that he wanted it to stop. For his entire existence, Optimus Prime had almost never suffered doubt. And now, he seemed unable to feel anything else. Was he losing his mind? Or his ability to lead? It seemed that way. There had been two deaths and two near deaths under his command in less than two months. And he had been unable to stop it from happening.

He wasn't fit to lead any more. He didn't feel fit for life. He knew, deep down, that he needed to talk to someone, anyone, to find the answers he so desperately needed. But, at the same time, another voice was screaming at the edge of his consciousness. It would be so much easier, the voice said, to just take his blaster, put it to his head and... No. He couldn't. It would be selfish and wrong; and yet so very tempting. No more fighting. No more war. No more Optimus Prime. Nothing.

For the first time in centuries of endless war, Optimus Prime broke down and cried.

O o O o O

"Wheeljack, glad you could meet me here," Jazz said, rising from his chair to greet the scientist. Jazz had picked the perfect hour for this meeting; it was early enough that most of the Autobots were either still in their berths recharging, or busy starting their shifts. As a result, the mess hall was completely empty. Most of the lights were off, leaving deep shadows in the corners of the room, like the one Jazz had chosen to sit in. The whole setting reminded Wheeljack of a badly written spy novel.

"No problem," Wheeljack replied, pulling up a chair of his own. The pair sat down before he continued. "It sounded urgent. What's up, Jazz?"

"I think there may be a problem with Optimus Prime," the saboteur said in a hushed tone, looking around the deserted mess hall to make sure no one was listening. _Old habits die hard_, Wheeljack noted.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"Come on, man," Jazz said, leaning forward. "You gotta have seen it. The sudden mood swings, the quietness, the withdrawal; he's got problems man. Big ones. Comes with the territory of being 'fearless leader'. But I don't think he's handling it so well."

"You think he's depressed?" the scientist asked, sounding horrified by the thought.

"Could well be," was the reply. "I've seen it before, 'Jack. I've seen mechs take on too much, overload on work, and responsibilities, and stress. They don't allow any time for themselves, and before they know it, their whole world collapses under its own weight."

"I can't say I blame him," Wheeljack replied thoughtfully. "The past few weeks have been stressful for everyone, more so for him. I can't remember the last time he even talked about taking some leave. And if Optimus is blaming himself for what's been going on..."

"Then we've got a big problem," Jazz finished.

"So, how do you want to deal with this?"

"With subtlety and tact, my friend. Subtlety and tact."

O o O o O

The intercom in Optimus Prime's quarters buzzed just as he was getting ready to leave for his shift. Prime had calmed down since his earlier episode, and had decided that facing the 'vampire' that had been terrorizing the Ark would help him lay one of his demons to rest. The sudden, intrusive noise startled Prime a little, as he had not been expecting any visitors. He walked over to the intercom, pressed a button, and asked who it was. The voice on the other end was that of Jazz.

Prime opened the door to his quarters, and came up a little short as he found that Jazz was not alone; Wheeljack was with him. The pair looked at Prime for a moment, as though unsure what to say. Prime decide to break the silence before it became any more uncomfortable.

"Gentlemen," he said, "what can I do for you?" The pair looked at one another, before Wheeljack finally spoke.

"Actually, sir," he said, "it's more about what we can do for you. We need to talk."

O o O o O

Slipstream entered the med-bay, trying as best he could to look nonchalant. He had been out of the med-bay for five hours, catching a quick recharge cycle and an energon ration, before heading back to watch Axcell. The green-armoured scout had been repaired since his capture, and the Autobots were now waiting for him to wake up. They weren't going to take any chances with him; the predator that had stalked the Ark was responsible for two deaths and at least one serious injury.

Slipstream wasn't taking any chances either. For thirty two hours, since the events in the caves, Slipstream had been watching, waiting for any sign that Axcell would wake up. While he was asleep, Axcell was giving Slipstream the perfect cover, buying him time to plan his next move. But when he woke up... Slipstream would cross that bridge when he came to it. That, or deal with the problem in a much more permanent way.

Prowl and Tracks were on guard duty, waiting for Slipstream to join them. Prowl nodded a greeting to the young mech as he arrived. Tracks was leaning against the wall of the bay, half watching Axcell, and half watching his reflection in a mirror fronted cabinet. Slipstream smiled to himself; he had never known someone as vain as the dark blue sports car. And if his plan was going to work, it was all resting on that fact. _First things first, though_, he thought to himself, _I need to get rid of the watchdog._

"Hey, Prowl," Slipstream said, putting on his cheeriest smile. "Red Alert said he was looking for you. He said it was kinda urgent." This part, at least, was true. Red Alert's request had simply given Slipstream the opening he needed. Soon, this would all be over.

"Can it wait?" asked Prowl, stifling a yawn. "My shift isn't due to finish here for another hour and a half."

"You sound tired," Slipstream said, sitting down with a good view of the prisoner. "I'm sure you could clock off a little early, see Red Alert, then grab some recharge time. I mean, me and Tracks can handle it from here. It's not like he's, you know, gonna wake up any time soon," he finished, nodding in Axcell's direction. Prowl didn't look entirely convinced.

"Orders are orders," he said, suppressing another yawn, before giving a wry smile. "Tempting though the offer is. Jazz has been keeping me up with his damned music again."

"Listen to the kid, Prowl," Tracks chimed in, tearing himself away from his reflection for a few seconds. He gave Prowl a look of aloof amusement. "Like he said, we can look after ourselves. And besides, Ratchet will be back in about fifteen minutes. It's not like we'll be completely alone. Besides which, your yawning is driving me to distraction."

"Okay, okay," Prowl sighed, raising his hands in resignation. "Be heroes. But if the monster wakes up and hands your tailpipes back to you on a plate, don't come crying to me, okay?"

The three mechs laughed for a few moments, before Prowl finally left. Slipstream watched him go, formulating the next phase of his plan. With Prowl gone, he figured that he stood a chance of taking out Tracks and implicating Axcell; the trick was figuring out how. Then it hit him. Appeal to the guy's vanity.

O o O o O

By the time Optimus Prime had finished, the world felt like a much clearer place, almost transparent-feeling. He felt as though a great veil had been lifted from in front of his optics. His problems weren't gone; life was seldom that easy. But they seemed bearable now. Just knowing that he wasn't entirely alone, that he could share some of his deepest fears, made them seem that much smaller. Not that sharing them had been an easy process.

It had taken no small amount of prodding and cajoling from Wheeljack and Jazz to get Prime to even talk to them. In the few weeks since those fateful events at the space-bridge, Prime had become more and more insular, apportioning less and less of the Ark's command duties to his fellow officers, and taking on the responsibility himself. He had blamed himself for the near-death of Slipstream, which in turn had led him to reasoning that the many Autobot deaths he had seen in his long life were also his fault. He had felt completely alone, too ashamed to express his own feelings, and too afraid of the opinions of his comrades to ask for help. After all, he was the leader. He was supposed to be the strong one.

When the floodgates had finally opened, it had taken Wheeljack and Jazz completely by surprise. They had both known that Prime was going through a rough patch, but nothing remotely like this. In the end, they had both centred on the same point with Prime; contrary to common belief, he wasn't infallible, and had as much right to help as anyone else. Yes, a lot of responsibility fell upon his shoulders, but at the end of the day, his welfare was as much their duty as theirs were to him. Once Prime's two friends had managed to make him see this point, everything had started to fall into place.

Just as the discussion between the three friends was coming to a close, Prime's intercom buzzed with an incoming message. Prime switched on the link, only to be assailed by a torrent of noise. After a second, Sideswipe's voice came blaring through the speaker.

"Optimus Prime," the twin shouted, fighting to make himself heard over the din. Prime thought he could hear Grimlock's voice in the background, as well as what sounded like gunfire and the sounds of tearing metal. "You need to get down to the med-bay, sir. We were wrong about the monster. It's not Axcell, it's..."

The message broke into static. Prime span to face Wheeljack and Jazz. He didn't need to say a thing, as both mechs were already heading for the door. He joined them, and they began to run toward the med-bay.

O o O o O

"Hey, Tracks," Slipstream said, getting the tall mech's attention. "It looks like you've got a smudge on your faceplate."

"Where," Tracks asked, a trace of concern floating through his usually unaffected voice. He unconsciously looked for his reflection in the nearest cabinet. "I can't see anything."

"Right there," Slipstream answered, gesturing vaguely to a spot on the right side of his own face, then pointing toward Tracks, standing as he did so. "C'mon, it's right there." Tracks began to peer more closely at his reflection.

"I still don't see..." Tracks began, but was cut off. Slipstream's pointing hand spread out, impacting with the side of Tracks' head. Slipstream threw his shoulder into the motion, and before Tracks knew what had hit him, his head had been slammed into the adamantium wall of the med-bay. Unconscious, the dark blue mech dropped to the floor. Slipstream gave him a vicious kick in the side, rolling the larger 'bot onto his back. A deep dent marked Tracks' forehead.

"Like I said," Slipstream hissed, "right there."

Slipstream walked around the observation table, toward where Axcell's head rested. He prodded the scout's face, making sure that he was still asleep, before moving in closer to his audio sensors.

"I really am sorry about this, my friend," he whispered, a sinister smile creeping across his features. "You see, I'm doing this to survive. If everyone finds out that I'm the one that attacked Sunstreaker, and who killed Pitstop and Waverider, then they'll want to kill me. And I can't allow that." As he said this, Slipstream brought his pulse rifle out of subspace, and gently placed the barrel of the weapon against Axcell's chest plate, right above his spark.

"I can't afford for you to wake up, Axcell," Slipstream continued. "I have to find a way to fight what I have become, but I have to do it on my terms. And I can't do that if you tell on me, now can I? Goodbye." Slipstream pulled the trigger, the barking report of the shot muffled by its proximity to its target. Satisfied that his plan was going well so far, the vampire mech turned to his next victim.

The urge to feed was becoming harder to control, so Slipstream decided to indulge it right now. In a way, killing Tracks made a macabre kind of sense; he would say that Axcell had woken up and attacked Track's, then that he had shot Axcell, finishing the job he had started in the caves. All he would have to do then was find a cure for himself before he needed to feed again. _Easier said than done_, he thought to himself sourly.

Kneeling over the prostrate form of Tracks, Slipstream opened his mouth. A pair of thin, razor-sharp fangs descended from hidden recesses, and his optics changed colour from blue to red. His vision changed as well; he could see the energon coursing through his victim, see the pulsing flow of it as it moved through the neck cables and toward Tracks' brain cavity. It showed up to him as a silvery snail-trail superimposed over his sight. The view made Slipstream thrill with a mixture of pleasure and revulsion. Bracing himself, he moved in for the kill.

The sound of screeching metal grabbed Slipstream's attention, and he looked up just in time to see one of the med-bay's storage cabinets flying toward him. Behind it, he caught a brief glimpse of bright yellow armour. He tried to move out of the cabinet's path, but it was already too late. The heavy container slammed into Slipstream, before smashing him into the same wall he had knocked Tracks out with.

With a grunt, Slipstream forced the cabinet off of his chest and threw it to one side. He rose quickly into a crouch, baring his fangs and letting out a long, feline hiss. Sunstreaker, supporting himself on the partition wall that had seperated his bed from Axcell's end of the bay, grinned defiantly at him, a glint in his eye the only thing that told he wasn't joking. The bright yellow mech was some thirty metres away, but had somehow managed to summon the strength to throw the cabinet. The effort had taken its toll, however, and he was losing strength fast. Fortunately for Sunstreaker, he wasn't alone.

With incredible speed, Slipstream threw himself at his attacker, closing the distance in mere moments. Sunstreaker tried to stand, bracing himself for the impact and raising his fists. Slipstream threw himself forward, aiming to finish his first victim once and for all. He counted the distance to his target; twenty feet, ten feet, five. And then, without warning, the world tipped itself on its side.

Slipstream was aware of a sickening impact, jarring most of his internal systems, then being thrown sideways, before landing awkwardly. He was aware of voices, subdued beneath the ringing in his ears, and of ground shaking footsteps. Slipstream looked up again in time to see Grimlock, in his Tyrannosaurus form, bearing down on him, jaws open wide.

Reacting out of pure instinct, Slipstream rolled to his left. Grimlock moved past him, before righting himself and once more hitting out at Slipstream with his tail. He made contact, but not as hard as he had hoped. The glancing impact forced Slipstream back just a few metres, and he quickly got back to his feet, loosing another feral snarl at the Dinobot commander.

"You should have stayed out of this, lizard," Slipstream hissed. "You messed with the wrong mech."

"And you messed with the wrong frakkin' family," Sunstreaker countered, staggering to Grimlock's side. "And now, you're gonna pay for it. Slag him, bro!"

Three shots struck Slipstream in the back in tight formation, two of them punching straight through his frame and out of his chest. The pain was unbelievable. Gasping, staring at his wounds, Slipstream dropped to his knees, then fell to one side. His optics flickered, then went dark. Sideswipe, gun in hand, moved around his brother's attacker, anger written across his features. The younger twin moved to Sunstreaker's side, slipping a red-armoured arm around his twin's waist, supporting his brother, whilst keeping his gun trained on the abomination in the middle of the room. All three Autobots sighed with relief; they had killed the monster.

Sideswipe and Grimlock began helping Sunstreaker back to his bed, Grimlock transforming to his robot form as they did so. Just as Sunstreaker climbed back onto the recovery bed, a deep, resonant sound began to echo around the med-bay. It was laughter; cruel, mirthless laughter. Slowly, the three mechs looked over to where Slipstream should have been laying. The young mech was instead standing, glaring hatefully at them, his eyes glowing a deep red. His mouth hung open slightly, displaying his fangs, which were glinting in the artificial light of the med-bay.

"What the slag is it gonna take to put him down, Sunny?" 'Swipe asked his brother.

"I really wish I knew," came his twin's reply.

Slipstream laughed again. The darkling sound sent chills down the dorsal supports of the three warriors. Then Slipstream stopped, smiled fleetingly, threw back his head and screamed. The drawn-out, reverberating cry struck a primal chord within the Autobots, making even Grimlock want to cover his audio receptors. And then, to their collective horror, the wounds in Slipstream's chest began to heal. Blue streaks of energon arced around the blaster holes, and the metal began to close over the wounds, running like liquid, then reshaping. In seconds, the vampire showed no sign of damage at all. Slipstream lowered his gaze once more, and gave his audience another thin, humourless smile.

"I bet you're wishing you'd gone for a head shot, aren't ya?" he mocked, his voice uncharacteristically deep.

It was about that point that Sideswipe called for help.

O o O o O

By the time Optimus Prime got to the med-bay, all hell had broken loose. No less than nine Autobots had arrived at the scene, most of them several minutes before Prime, Jazz and Wheeljack. Many of them were scattered around the med-bay, sporting injuries ranging from dented plating to shattered limbs. A few of those present were missing plating altogether, their inner workings painfully apparent. For all intents and purposes, the room looked like the site of a small hurricane.

Once more, standing in the centre of the carnage, was Slipstream. He was looking at the floor, his hands behind his head, his fingers interlaced. Standing either side of him, being careful to stay out of arms reach, Grimlock and Snarl had their guns aimed squarely at the young mech's head. Prime looked at Slipstream, meeting the youngster's bright blue gaze.

"What in the Pit is going on here?" Prime asked quietly, looking around the bay.

"He's the monster," a weak voice said from the rear of the med-bay. "He did this. It was all him." Prime looked over and found the source of the voice, Sideswipe. The cherry-red mech sat propped against a wall, nursing a mangled left arm. His right shoulder rested against his twins left side; Sunstreaker was in much worse shape, with deep gouges across his chest and face. Prime nodded his acknowledgement to the twins, before looking back at Slipstream.

"Is this true?" he asked.

Slipstream looked up at Prime, and for the first time the commander saw what the others had seen. The Slipstream he had known, the Slipstream that he had been ready to call a friend, was no longer there. The innocence that had been an inherent part of the young mech's features, his very personality, had been replaced by a deep, fathomless malice. The creature he had become stared back at Prime, derision staining his expression.

"True?" Slipstream asked, dark humour colouring his voice. "Of course it's true."

"Take him away," Prime growled. "Lock him in the brig." The two Dinobots that were guarding Slipstream took up position, then nudged him with their weapons. Slipstream took a few steps toward the door, then stopped next to Prime.

"You want to know the real truth?" he asked quietly, looking up at Prime. To Prime's horror, Slipstream's optics flickered, then turned a deep crimson. "The whole, scary truth of it is, I enjoyed every last minute of it..."


	4. Innocence Lost

Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter Four

Innocence Lost

Slipstream paced up and down the length of his holding cell, the cybertronium/adamantium box that had become the extent of his world echoing with the sound of his footsteps. It was no different to any other cage that Slipstream had seen or read about; sure, it was quite spacious, and was open at one end; the only thing standing between him and freedom was a set of barely visible energy bars, that would cut through his chassis with little or no effort if he was ever stupid enough to try to escape. The recharge couch in the cell was halfway comfortable, and they had even allowed him a television, just to while away the time.

But, at the end of the day, it was still a cage, and they had pretty much thrown away the key. Slipstream needed to be free, and he needed it now.

_They_, his former Autobot colleagues, had tried to be understanding. They had tried to be kind. They had performed a gruelling array of tests, hoping that some kind of cure could be found for Slipstream's condition. But that still didn't stop the _hatred_ from showing in their optics. He could see it even now, reflected back at him from the optic plates of his two guards. They tried to stay impassive, to show that they upheld Autobot ideals, that they were kind, and understanding, and sympathetic to his condition. But all Slipstream could see was disgust, revulsion for what he had become, and what he had done to try and survive that transformation.

_Vampire_. The word echoed around Slipstream's mind, whispering into his thoughts like the phantasm of a forgotten dream. He had tried so very hard to escape the fate that had overcome him. He had fought to contain the beast within, to control its constant need to feed. He had lost. Eventually, he had given in to it, to its alluring, seductive embrace, and the Slipstream that had been was lost forever. Slipstream tried whispering it to himself, to get a feel for the strange human word.

_Vampire_. Every time, it left a cold and bitter taste in his mouth. A taste of loss and defeat.

O o O o O

Wheeljack sat at the main workstation in his lab, absent mindedly tapping the side of his head with the fingers of his right hand. He had both arms leaning on the desk, his chin nestled in his right palm. It was late, and he desperately needed to recharge, but Wheeljack could not seem to tear himself away from the puzzle that lay in front of him. The display screen had shown the same image for six hours, and Wheeljack had been staring at it for very nearly the whole time, as though by will alone he could look past the conundrum and see the answer.

On the screen, a high resolution schematic of Slipstream rotated slowly, occasionally highlighting different sections of his structure. For four days, Wheeljack and Ratchet had been looking over the schematics and running every test he knew how to do, hoping to find a reason for Slipstream's condition. Nothing seemed apparent. He had even contacted one of his counterparts on Cybertron, asking for the youngster's original blueprints. Sadly, they had been of no help.

Wheeljack was just giving consideration to turning in for the night, when a thought struck him. At first, the idea seemed preposterous, little more than fiction, but the more he dwelled upon the idea, the more it made sense. Wheeljack considered calling Optimus Prime on the spot, such was his excitement at the possibility of a breakthrough. But his theory was still in its early stages, and after a moments further thought, Wheeljack decided to review his idea in the morning, before contacting Prime. After all, if he was right, and he prayed to Primus that he wasn't, then there was no hope for Slipstream at all.

O o O o O

Slipstream awoke from recharge, and immediately sensed that he had a visitor. His internal chronometer told him that it was early, about an hour before the morning changeover. Right on time. He didn't need to see who it was; he knew exactly who would be standing on the other side of the bars. Optimus Prime had been visiting him every morning at about the same time since his capture. Slipstream kept his optics off-line, hoping that the massive mech would just leave. He could feel Prime's presence, hear the energon pulsing through his huge frame, and the thought made Slipstream smile briefly. Whilst Slipstream was beginning to find the visits tedious, there was still a part of him that enjoyed tormenting his former idol.

"How long do you plan on standing there, Prime?" Slipstream finally ventured, without getting up from his recharge couch. His voice had changed since his capture, the young innocence in his voice gone, replaced with a much darker, deeper timbre. Prime had found this fact quite unnerving, and Slipstream knew it.

"As long as it takes," Prime replied quietly. He moved closer to the bars, before continuing. "I have to know. I have to be sure that the Slipstream I knew has gone for good."

"Of course he's gone," Slipstream crooned, his voice becoming low and menacing, losing the last of its sardonic humour. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the couch so that he faced Prime. His deep red optics met Prime's cool blue gaze, and he smiled, clearly displaying his fangs. "You have to know that, Prime. Deep down, you have to know it's true."

"I can't believe it."

"Why not?" Slipstream asked, rising smoothly and walking slowly up to the bars of his cell. "Why can't you let go of the idea that the Slipstream you knew was anything other than a cover? Are you really so blind? Is the great Optimus Prime so sure of himself that he will ignore the truth, even when it is staring him in the face?"

Slipstream raised his left hand, his fingertips coming within a hair's breadth of the lethal energy beams. He looked at his hand, then up at Prime, giving him a wry smile. _I'll prove it to you_, the smile said. Slowly, Slipstream began to trace his fingertips over the bars. There was a faint _pop_, followed by a sizzling sound as the energy beams began to eat into the material of the young mech's black-plated hand. Slipstream continued pushing, his face a mixture of controlled agony and grim determination, until his whole hand had been nearly obliterated. Finally, panting through the pain, Slipstream pulled his ruined hand away, raising it for Prime to see.

"Eventually, you are going to have to realise that there is nothing here," he hissed. His hand was already beginning to reform, thin arcs of energon playing over the metal surface as it regained its original shape. Before long, the black armour plating was once more whole. "Nothing, that is, but a monster..."

O o O o O

"Prime, glad you could see me," Wheeljack said as Prime entered the science lab.

"Not a problem, Wheeljack," Prime replied, taking a seat in a corner of the lab, coming to rest with his arms resting on his knees. "You sounded as though you had something for me."

"I do," Wheeljack said uncertainly. "Or, at least I think I do. I might have a theory on why Slipstream is the way he is."

"Go on," Prime urged quietly, leaning forward slightly.

"I've run a full comparison between Slipstream's original blueprints and the scans we've taken over the last few days," Wheeljack began, tapping a control and bringing up the blueprints on a large display screen. "I've found a few very important changes. Firstly, the fangs. They're made of a cybertronium/polycarbide composite alloy, similar to the armour piercing shells favoured by some snipers; Bluestreak, for example. It means that he can bite through the armour of almost every mech in the base.

"Secondly, there are several major changes to his power matrix. His storage cells seem to be almost incapable of keeping a standard charge; instead they only accept an altered charge, one that has been pre-processed by another system. This we already knew, or had at least guessed. Thanks to the plans here, we know he wasn't created with these defects. And I checked with Ratchet's files as well. Slipstream had a full work up on arrival, and his specs matched the originals almost perfectly."

"So he's changed since arriving here," Prime whispered, half to himself. He sat back in his chair, and heaved a deep sigh, lost in thought for a moment. "The question is how?"

"That had me stumped as well," Wheeljack admitted, shrugging lightly. "But then it hit me last night. What's the one traumatic event he's been through since he got here, six months ago. Traumatic enough to do something like this."

"The space-bridge?" Prime asked, sudden realisation crossing his features.

"The space-bridge," Wheeljack echoed. "You know how the bridge works. It works on the same principal as most short range teleportation devices; matter reintegration." Prime's slightly puzzled expression told the scientist he had nearly lost his audience. He tried a different approach.

"In short," he continued, "the bridge works by taking an object apart at the molecular level, translating its matter into energy. It sends that energy in a form of signal to the receiving post on Cybertron, where the energy is re-assembled as matter. The whole thing takes just a few minutes."

"Okay, I'm with you so far," Prime said, nodding slowly.

"What if, when the space bridge got hit at that battle, it was triggered briefly, just before the explosion. We know Slipstream was inside its area of effect. The bridge could easily have scrambled his matter, then put him back together without sending him to Cybertron, leaving him in the state he's in. Which leads me to the next part of the theory. Slipstream wasn't alone in the accident. Someone was in there with him."

"That's right, Ratbat," Prime said, before motioning that Wheeljack should continue.

"Indeed," Wheeljack confirmed. "The Decepticon fuel auditor. It makes sense, after all. Just think; armour piercing fangs? A fuel tank that can process non-standard fuels? Who does that sound like? I think that the accident somehow merged the two of them, leaving us with our vampire."

"It sounds plausible," Prime said, whilst rubbing the right side of his head with his hand. "The trouble now is, can we fix him?"

"That, sir, is a much more difficult question to answer..."

O o O o O

Jazz checked his chronometer, wondering how much more of his watch was left. The time showed up as two-thirty-seven in the morning. Or, more to the point, exactly three minutes later than it had been the last time he had checked. Jazz chided himself for feeling on edge; he had been on edge since starting his shift, and the stress was starting to show. He half considered playing some music to while away the time, but he knew better than that. The security on Slipstream's cell might have been lowered a little, but that didn't mean that the monster was any less dangerous. Jazz needed to be alert.

The reason for Jazz's stress was currently sitting at the back of his cell. For the last three hours, Slipstream had been doing everything within his power to make Jazz miserable. He had stood at the bars of his cell and stared at Jazz, he had talked to him, he had shouted, jeered, laughed, cried, screamed, howled, begged and every other adjective in the dictionary. And all the while, that same, mocking look had been in his eyes. Three hours later, and Jazz's nerves were frayed to the point of breaking.

It was a shame, in a way. Jazz had liked the young mech; everybody that had got to know Slipstream had liked him. For a while, he had filled a gap that had formed in the Autobot ranks, the role of everyone's surrogate little brother. Bumblebee had grown up a little in his time on Earth, and Jazz had enjoyed the chance to share his love for pop music with someone again. In their own ways, almost all of the Autobots had taken Slipstream under their wings, and he had apparently adored them for it. But not any more.

Slipstream had switched the lights off in his cell, and had retreated to the back, out of clear sight. If Jazz stared hard enough, he could make out the soft, blue glow of Slipstream's optics. The young mech was quiet for the moment, a fact that Jazz was thankful for. He shifted his weight slightly, from one foot to the other, and stifled a yawn. It was then that Jazz noticed the sound; Slipstream was crying again. Jazz let out a sigh, exasperated by the fact his peace and quiet had been so brief.

Jazz decided not to react, no matter how tempting it may be to tell Slipstream to shut up. After a few minutes, though, the noise had not risen above the level of a soft, gasping sob. The forced mockery that had been present before was missing. It sounded genuine to Jazz's mind, but he was so tired and edgy he couldn't be entirely sure any more. After a few minutes, Jazz decided that he had had enough, and took a few steps toward the cell.

"Pack it in, would ya, kid?" he called into the cell. No reply came, save for more crying. Jazz moved closer to the bars, and tried again.

"Just give it up, Slipstream," he said angrily. "You're really starting to damage my karma..."

The crying slowed, then stopped. Jazz could hear Slipstream taking a few gulping breaths, as though to steady himself. Jazz could just make him out in the gloom of the darkened cell, sitting on the floor with his knees tucked under his chin. He had his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, as though trying to make himself smaller, like he was hiding from something. His position made the wings from his jet form stand out prominently on his back. The whole image had the effect of making Slipstream seem almost child-like. For a brief moment, Jazz felt a great swell of pity for the young mech. It was quickly stamped down, however, by the memory of what Slipstream had done.

"Jazz?" Slipstream's voice had changed, sounding much more like his old self, albeit drenched in sadness. The vampire turned his head to face Jazz, and it was then that the master saboteur noticed something: Slipstream's optics weren't red any more. They were blue.

"Is... Is that you, kid?" Jazz asked.

"For now," came the hushed reply. "It's asleep. I don't have long, Jazz. It'll be awake again soon. I just wanted to say... to say that I'm sorry. I tried to stop it from killing those people. But it was so strong. So very strong..."

"Listen," Jazz began, "we're going to get you sorted out. Wheeljack and Ratchet are working on it right now. If anyone can do it, they can."

O o O o O

Optimus had known it was going to be a bad day from the moment he woke up. Upon waking, Prime had received a message from Jazz that had been sent at around three o'clock in the morning, telling him that an important development had arisen with the prisoner. Prime had gone down to the brig immediately, even skipping his morning energon ration. At precisely seven thirty in the morning, Optimus Prime once more stood outside Slipstream's cell.

The trouble was, Slipstream was no longer in it.

The cell was instead occupied by Jazz. When Prime had arrived, he had been greeted by the sight of his special ops agent standing behind the energy bars of the cell, begging Wheeljack and Inferno to hurry up and let him out. The controls for the cell entry had been destroyed, and Wheeljack was busy trying to bypass the system and let his friend out of the cell. When Prime had demanded an explanation, he had not liked what he heard.

Jazz had explained about the events of that morning, of how Slipstream had spoken to him. He had then described how, an hour later, Slipstream had started convulsing, before collapsing on the cell floor. Jazz had called for help, but when no-one had answered he had lowered the forcefield protecting the cell entrance and gone in, to check that the prisoner was still alive.

"The next thing I know," Jazz finished, "I wake up in here with a banging headache, and Inferno's yelling at me that Slipstream has gone. I'm sorry Prime. It was a rookie mistake, and I shoulda known better." Jazz shook his head in shame.

"That's okay, Jazz," Prime sighed. "At the end of the day, you did what you could, what most of us would have done. You couldn't have known he was faking the seizure. After all, we know so little about his condition still. One thing is heartening, though. The fact that Slipstream didn't kill you shows that there may be a little of the old Slipstream left after all. After what you told me, though, he might be losing that battle."

O o O o O

Hiding in the air duct above the brig, Slipstream watched as Optimus Prime left the room. He had heard everything, and the sheer naivety of it all made him want to laugh. To a certain degree, they were right. He could feel the original 'Slipstream' personality writhing impotently in his head, screaming to be let out. But he was too weak to stop the creature that he had become. Listening to the youngster's cries as he pounded on the walls of his own mind, the new personality smiled to itself, deriving a sick pleasure from the torture of it's host.

_There will be a reckoning between us, Prime_, the creature thought to itself, barely controling the urge to snarl out loud at Prime's retreating form. _Your troubles are just beginning. You think that you can just kill me, to save this whelp? Fine. Try, if you can. I'll be waiting..._


	5. Reflections in a Broken Mirror

Slipstream: Chronicles

Chapter Five

Reflections In A Broken Mirror

"I never wanted to be this way, you know. If I could, if Primus granted me a wish tomorrow, I'd change in a sparkbeat..."

Alone, cold, and starting to feel the gnawing effects of his returning hunger, Slipstream looked over at his captive audience. He shared a slow, thin smile with his victim, before taking a look at his current surroundings. He had stopped here, in a cramped crawlspace cross-junction, to rest; he had been on the run for more than twenty-four hours, and was starting to feel tired.

After escaping from his cell, Slipstream had used the air ducts and maintenance tunnels that laced the _Ark_, and made it to his quarters to pick up a few items. Now, he was reduced to moving every so often, in an effort to stay ahead of Teletran-One's security scans. He was tired, covered in dust, and angry at being in his current predicament. He wasn't sure why, but it had all added up in an odd desire to... well, _chat_. To his mind, it was the oddest sensation.

"I wonder if it hurts?" he mused, half asking his audience, half just speaking aloud. "Being drained, I mean. Hmm... more to the point, do I even care any more? I don't know. All I know for certain is that I _must_ survive. If that means killing, then so be it. For all my desire to change, I know now that I may be stuck like this forever. So I guess I'm left with a choice: accept my new destiny, or give in to my better half and spend the remainder of my life pining for mundane normality.

"I don't even recognise myself any more, you know. I look at what I've become, look at what I used to be, and... I can't quite equate one with the other. It's like seeing a reflection of yourself in a broken mirror. It's all there, if you look, but none of the pieces match up. Does that make sense? I don't know. I do know that I'm not the original Slipstream, and I never will be. In a way, I suppose, I'm doing all of this to prove that point...

"I'm sorry," he said, looking straight into the optics of his silent victim, offering another half-smile. "I'm rambling. And there's no need to look at me like that; I know that, sooner or later, I'm going to have to go out there and face Prime. You know, it really is all his fault that I'm in this state. I'll have to make him pay, just like all the others, for trying to hunt me down like some animal. Yes, they will pay." He reached forward then, and gently stroked his victim's cheek.

"Thank you, Waverider," he whispered, before picking up the severed head and placing a tender kiss just above its brow. "You really are a very good listener..."

O o O o O

"Jazz, Mirage, take cargo bay two. Gears and Huffer, take three. Prowl, you're with me, cargo bay one. Move out people."

Almost two days had passed since Slipstream's escape from the brig. Teletran-One's sensors had identified that the vampire was using the air ducts to remain concealed, and had finally identified that he was heading for the _Ark_'s complex of cargo bays. Optimus Prime had mustered as many Autobots as he could, directing most to seal off the entry points to the area, both in the ducts and the corridors, and organizing the rest into search parties to flush the creature out of hiding. Optimus wasn't taking any chances with Slipstream's capture this time, and was leading the search himself.

"Remember," the massive blue and red mech told his soldiers, "only aim to kill if you have no other choice. Slipstream has demonstrated the ability to heal grievous wounds, and it's going to take a lot to take him down. But if you can take him alive, do so. Underneath that killer, our friend may still be in there. We have to save him if we can." The incredulous looks on the faces of his team mates said it all. It was going to be far easier said than done.

O o O o O

"I don't like this," Gears complained. "I really don't like this. How are we supposed to see anything past all of these crates?"

He and Huffer walked slowly down one of the many aisles layed out in the cargo bay, trying to be as stealthy as possible. The stacks of storage crates and containers rose up toward the ceiling, blocking lines of sight and breaking up the bay like a giant, model cityscape. The two mechs had their weapons drawn, and were slowly circling around each other as they moved, watching each other's backs.

"Would you just listen to yourself?" Huffer retorted. "Would you rather we tried clearing the bay out first? Yeah, I can just see that conversation right now. 'Excuse me, mister monster, would you mind not attacking us or leaving the room while we clear all of these crates? Its just, it would make it so much easier to spot you and shoot you through the head...' Yeah, right. Like that's gonna happen."

"There's no need to be sarcastic," Gears whined, then stopped in his tracks. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Huffer asked. A moment later, he heard a peal of deep, rich laughter echoing around the cargo bay. The sound made Huffer want to run. "Oh," he gasped. "That."

The two mechs moved on in silence, trying not to let their quarry know where they were. Every so often, they would hear the laughter again, and the pair had to fight the urge to call for reinforcements. Before long, more sounds filled the darkened bay at random intervals; sounds of metal pipes being dragged along the ground, or being tapped together rhythmically; footsteps that sounded close one moment and distant the next; and once, the long, high pitched wail that had preceded all of Slipstream's other attacks. The monster was doing his best to unnerve the two Autobots, and it was starting to work.

"Huffer," whispered Gears.

"What?" whispered Huffer.

"Are you scared?"

"Gears, are you determined to give away our position or something? Shut the frak up!"

"Oh good, me neither," came Gears' sarcastic reply. He was about to make another snide remark, when a movement on the edge of his vision grabbed his attention. He looked up just in time to see a silver-grey blur crossing one of the junctions in the crate-corridor they were in.

"Huffer, I hate to say this, but we've got company. Heads up, okay?."

"Got it," came the terse reply.

The two Autobots progressed carefully toward where Gears had spotted Slipstream, each of them jumping at the slightest sound and spinning around sharply to find the source. To avoid friendly fire, which would be a killer in such close conditions, the pair split up slightly, alert and ready to face any danger. Gears reached the junction first, and with Huffer covering him, he stepped out into the crossroads, looking left and right, searching for any sign of their quarry.

"Huffer, do you see any..." Gears began to ask. Before he had finished speaking, Gears heard a dull _thud _and a muffled gasp, followed by a single gunshot. The energy blast ripped through Gears' right shoulder, from front to back, spinning him on the spot and forcing him to fall backward. The shot had come from Huffer's rifle, which now hung loosely from its owner's grip. When Gears saw why, he froze with fear.

Huffer was hanging in mid air, suspended in Slipstream's abnormally powerful grip. The vampire was holding onto the side of one of the crates with his left hand, suspended some ten metres above the floor. His legs were almost doubled up beneath him, his feet somehow finding purchase in the sheer surface of the crate-valley wall. In his right hand, he held Huffer like he was nothing more than a rag doll, Slipstream's fist embedded firmly in the other mech's chest plate.

Most of Slipstream's face was hidden, save for his optics, which glared a bright red at Gears over Huffer's left shoulder. It was obvious that he had his fangs buried deeply into Huffer's throat, draining the life from him with every passing moment. In just a few seconds, it was all over. With a savage flick of his wrist, Slipstream sent his impromptu meal crashing into the opposite wall, leaving the corpse to fall to the floor without a second thought.

The vampire let go of his vantage point and dropped to the floor, landing lightly. He smiled viciously at Gears, who was still sitting, slack jawed, a few metres away. Gears' gun had been knocked out of his hand by the shot he had taken, and was now sitting several metres behind him. Slipstream began walking toward his next victim, intent on a second kill. Gears, to his credit, didn't freeze up, or start begging for mercy. Instead, he defiantly began scrabbling backward, trying to reach his gun. But before he could get there, the vampire struck.

O o O o O

After disposing of Gears and Huffer, Slipstream announced his presence to everyone in the vicinity. His now trademark scream echoed around the halls of the Ark, far louder than any before, sending a thrill of pure terror through almost every Autobot that heard it. Optimus Prime ordered a complete lock down of cargo bay three, sealing every way out of the chamber with a set of forcefields. The remaining two search teams rallied outside the bay, each member looking to Prime for a decision on what to do next. Prime stared at the bay's main entrance for long moments, before speaking.

"We go in together," he said, "and we stay as a group. It's obvious that Slipstream has taken out Huffer and Gears. We've seen how much of a pounding he can take, not to mention how much damage he can do when he gets up close. Take no chances. I had hoped to take him alive, but that course has proven too dangerous, and hence is no longer open to us. I will NOT risk any further lives being lost for the sake of this monster. We end this. And we end it now."

Prime led the group of Autobots in to the maze-like confines of the cargo bay. The commander took the lead, with Jazz and Prowl taking up flanking positions either side of him. At the rear of the formation, Mirage had activated his stealth field, becoming invisible to most normal means of detection. The group moved cautiously, watching every corner and shadow for the slightest hint of movement. Above them, high up in the rafters, Slipstream watched them intently.

It wasn't long before the group found Huffer and Gears. The two Autobots had literally been torn apart, displayed in one of the larger open spaces like a madman's idea of an anatomical schematic. Slipstream had been less than careful with his victims. Deep gouges were torn into their bodies, parts of their inner workings had been crushed entirely, and the sight made Prime boil. For his three comrades, icy tendrils of fear began to tighten around their sparks. Their friends had been left as a message, a warning to those that followed that Slipstream was not going to show any mercy.

"How in Primus' name are we supposed to fight this... this... thing?" Prowl asked, his voice trembling slightly. "I mean, we can't even find him, let alone stop him."

"Maybe we don't have to find him," Jazz offered quietly. "Odds are good that he'll find us. Especially if we provoke him, make him come to us, on our terms." Jazz raised his hands, cupping them around his mouth, and began calling out to their enemy.

"Slipstream," he called, as loudly as he could. "Slipstream, I know you can hear me, kid. Come on out." The only answer was silence, punctuated by a faint echo of the saboteur's voice.

"Come on, kid. You gotta face up to what you've done. You can't believe that you can get away with this. We are gonna hunt you down, Slipstream, and make you pay for what you've done. Give yourself up, and it'll go a lot easier for you." More silence. Jazz looked to Prime, shrugging. Prime simply gave Jazz a look that said he should keep trying. At the same time, Jazz became aware that Mirage's location transponder, which normally sent his position to his team mates, had been switched off. The hunter had just become the hunted. Now Jazz just had to get Slipstream's attention, and keep it on him.

"Come on , kid," he tried again, hoping to Primus that he was getting through to his former friend. "Huffer and Gears didn't deserve to die. Waverider didn't deserve to die. None of them did. You should have come to us at the start. We could have sorted out this problem of yours at the beginning, but instead you hid it, blaming the attacks on someone else like a spoilt child..."

Rich, deep laughter, soft and low, cut through the air like a knife, reverberating around the bay and making it hard to trace its source. All three Autobots turned on the spot, searching for any sign of an impending attack. Eventually, Slipstream's voice replaced the laughter.

"Help me?" he asked. "Tell me, friend, how precisely are you going to help me? Has Wheeljack found some miracle cure? Or were you going to offer me the simple peace of a plasma shell through the head? Tell me, Jazz, why I should give myself up to you? Or Prime? Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"Just show yourself, Slipstream," Prime called out.

"And if I refuse? You're going to kill me anyway, Prime. It's now just a matter of how and when. Besides, Jazz here says that I'm a 'spoilt child'. If _child_ I am, sir, then I would much rather stay and play for a while. After all, I just found a new toy..." An instant later, a startled cry rent the air. The voice belonged to Mirage.

The next thing the Autobots knew, a large yet invisible object crashed into one of the cargo containers almost a hundred metres away, some fifteen metres up the artificial cliff face formed by the boxes. They heard, rather than saw the object hit the floor, then a shimmering form began to take shape. Seconds later, Mirage's stealth field gave out altogether, and the indistinct ripple in the air resolved itself into the counter-intelligence agent's prostrate form.

Before any of the remaining mech's could react, Slipstream struck for a second time. They were briefly aware of a low hum in the distance, which quickly rose in pitch to a piercing whine; the sound of jet engines engaging. Without warning, Slipstream rounded a corner behind the Autobots, flying at breakneck speed, directly at Prowl. Prowl tried bringing his weapon to bear, but was too late, and Slipstream barrelled into him, grabbing hold of his left arm and hoisting him into the air. Slipstream changed direction, flying straight upward. He let go of Prowl as he did so, throwing Prowl at Jazz, and smashing both mechs into another of the crates. The pair fell, unconscious, to the floor.

In less than ten seconds, Optimus Prime found himself alone. Slipstream was laughing again, and the sound made Prime want to scream in frustration, as much at himself as his tormentor. It was all his fault. He should never have led his friends into this trap; he just should have locked Slipstream in the cargo bay and left him to starve to death. That thought in itself stung Prime, going against everything he had ever believed in. He could feel it all flooding back, all of the guilt, the pain, the anger. Only this time, instead of aiming it at himself, Prime found that he had a new target.

"This is fun," said a child-like voice, high and taunting; Slipstream evidently wasn't done with playing mind games. "Do you wanna play a game? Or maybe sing a song?" Slipstream laughed again, taunting his former idol. Prime answered with a howl of fury.

"Leave. Me. ALONE!" Prime roared, his voice echoing back at him almost mockingly.

"But I want to play," came the petulant reply. "Hey, I know, lets sing a song. Human protoform's like this one, I'm told." Prime began to walk in the direction he thought the voice was coming from, as Slipstream broke into a bad rendition of a human nursery rhyme. The sound echoed from the walls of the cargo bay at odd angles, eerily haunting, and making it difficult to tell where their source was hiding.

_Ring a ring of roses... A pocket full of posies..._

Prime rounded a corner, bringing his blaster up sharply. Nothing was there.

_Atishoo... Atishoo..._

Prime span on his heel, fighting a surge of panic as he turned to chase yet another shadow.

"All fall down..."

The final line of the rhyme was whispered directly into Prime's audio sensor. The Autobot commander turned again, coming almost face-to-face with his attacker. Slipstream was in the process of jumping into the air, rolling his body backward as he did so. As Prime began to bring his weapon around, the vampire lashed out with both of his legs. The power of the impact took Prime by surprise, sending him crashing backwards and onto the floor. His gun flew from his hand, landing a few feet away.

Slipstream finished his backward flip, then landed with preternatural grace, lithely shifting to a crouching position, and glaring at Prime as though ready to pounce. He opened his jaws, brandishing his fangs and releasing a snarling hiss. Prime's optics widened in an instant of fear.

"Enough games, I think," Slipstream whispered, just loud enough for Prime to hear. His voice had returned to its deep, menacing tones. With jarring suddenness he sprang forward, lunging for Prime with animal ferocity. Prime reached for his blaster, but could only reach the barrel, not the trigger. Not having time to turn the weapon around, he compromised, and swung the heavy gun around and up. It connected with the side of Slipstream's head just in time, sending the monster sprawling across the corridor.

"Why are you doing this?" Prime managed to ask, rising unsteadily to his feet and taking aim at his foe. "I know the real Slipstream is in there, fighting to get out. Why won't you let us help you? Why are you so hell-bent on destroying everyone around you?"

"Not _everyone_, Prime," came the snarling reply, as the vampire quickly regained his footing. "You. I've been punishing _you_, Optimus Prime, the greatest hypocrite of our time."

"Hypocrite?"

"Yes, hypocrite! Don't you remember what you told me, my first day here? _Freedom is the right of all sentient beings_, you said. _We must uphold life and justice_, you said. And yet, as soon as I realised what I had become, I knew that my life would be forfeit."

"That's not true," Prime tried to reply.

"Isn't it?" Slipstream snapped. "_Isn't it_? You were right about me, Prime. I'm not the original Slipstream personality. If it pleases you, he _is _still alive, trapped in here, in my head. I was born within him, after the accident. A new personality. Irrevocably bonded to the vampiric changes that had been wrought upon my body. You cannot remove one without destroying the other. And so, I am fighting for that which is rightfully mine, by your own admission."

"But by allowing you freedom, I would be jeopardising the lives of every other transformer. I can't allow that..."

"And so, I brand you 'hypocrite'. I have as much right as anyone else to life. Maybe more so."

"And how do you figure that?" Prime asked, his voice low.

"Because I'm not only self aware, Prime," Slipstream growled back, "I'm also willing to take what I need. I know what I want, and I take it, simple as that. Most so-called sentient beings never rise to such an enlightened level."

"That doesn't make you more worthy of life, Slipstream. It just makes you selfish and pitiable."

"Have it your way," the vampire hissed. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to finish this little dance. Not to sound rude, Prime, but I'm getting a little tired of your endless piety."

"Please do," was the only reply that Optimus could muster.

Slipstream moved as though ready to launch another attack, then stopped abruptly. To Prime, he looked confused, then panicked. The creature suddenly threw his hands up, clutching the sides of his head as though trying to stop it from exploding. He began to mutter to himself, quietly at first, then louder.

"No... Stop it...You can't... _Ngh_... Take control... Get out of my... _NO_... you can't make me, I won't let you..." His ranting increased further in volume, nearing a scream, his body contorting as though in great pain. He dropped to his knees, alternately pleading or screaming in rage, then as abruptly as it had begun, it stopped. When Slipstream looked up at Prime again, his optics were blue.

"Prime... It's... It's me. Slipstream," he gasped, his body doubled over with pain, his fight against the monster easily visible. "The _real_ Slipstream. I can't hold it back for long. It's taking all I have just to talk. Listen to me. You have to kill me, Prime. Please. It's the only way..."

"No," gasped Prime. "I can't, not while there's still a chance..."

"There isn't!" was Slipstream's plaintive reply. "It will kill you, and it will kill the others, and it will keep on killing until there is nothing left. You have to end it for me, Optimus. I can't do it by myself... Please!"

"I... I can't," Prime said desperately, while struggling to bring his blaster to bear, the knowledge of what he had to do warring with his need to save his friend. "I just can't do it..."

"You have to!" Slipstream begged him, coolant tears coursing down his young face. Prime was sure he felt his spark beginning to fracture. "It's the only way!"

"No!"

"Do it NOW!" Slipstream roared, his eyes blazing red, rising to attack once more. He began to lurch forward, still not entirely in control, and as he did the old Slipstream pushed through one last time, for one last plea...

"_KILL MEEEEEE_!!"

O o O o O

The other Autobots heard the gunshot, and instinctively knew that it was all over.

When they found Optimus Prime, he was cradling the broken form of Slipstream in his arms. The silver grey jet looked so small, so defenceless, that most found themselves immediately willing to forget that he had ever been the monster. After all he had done, all he had endured, it was finally over. In the end, they just tallied him as yet another victim. For a long time, Prime just sat there, refusing to let the youngster's body go. When he finally did, he refused to talk of the events in the cargo bay. For ages, he simply avoided the subject. When asked what had happened, he simply said that a true hero had given his life to save his own, and left it at that. He refused to be broached further on the subject.

In the months that followed the events of that fateful day, Prime slowly came to terms with what he had been forced to do. It wasn't easy, and it wasn't always quiet reflection that helped him through, but he got there. His fellow Autobots noticed a change in their leader as he resolved his personal issues; for better or for worse, Prime seemed more convinced than ever before that the war against the Decepticons was more important now than it had ever been, that Megatron had to be beaten for the good of all life, on every world.

No matter the cost...

* * *

Author's Notes: Deleted scene two.

This was a fun one to write, I'll freely admit that. The opening scene for _Reflections_, with Slipstream holding a one-way conversation with Waverider's head, was a great chance to take a look at just how psychotic Slipstream has become, and the relationship between the vampire and normal halves of his still-separating psyche (not to mention answering the question of just what happened to her head, of course. I can just imagine some poor soul finding it weeks later...).

I liked it, but felt that, for the original cut, it was perhaps a bit too scary/disturbing, in its own way. And so, with heavy heart, I dropped it. Doing this re-release, and starting work on _Slipstream: Resurrection _(due for release May 12, 2009), I suppose I've gotten a bit braver as a writer. So here it is, in all it's gory glory. Enjoy!

This story, in its entirety, is dedicated to Shockbox, one of my fanfic sisters. Thanks for keeping the dream (or should that be nightmare?) alive, kiddo.

Thanks again for reading _Slipstream: Chronicles_. Any and all feedback is more than welcome. Just to reiterate, I do not own Transformers, or anything here that you recognise as canon... I just like to play here.

MyBlueOblivion


End file.
